


The Good Persian

by kriadydragon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, Cats, Friendship, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond meets one of Q's cats. The result is Bond and Q being introspective as to why they do what they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Persian

**Author's Note:**

> Post Spectre. Only very mild spoilers. The kind you would only catch if you'd seen the movie, and nothing that gives anything major away.

Bond needed something. He also needed it in a manner that required utter discretion, the kind of discretion that denied the demands of civility to knock on the front door, instead opting for an unlocked window. 

Bond's choice of entrance might also have been the product of old habits, he wasn't sure. Waiting outside of front doors in the middle of the night was an incredibly vulnerable position to put oneself in. It was also a nuisance; standing around, letting your legs go stiff waiting for someone who would eventually show up, you just didn't know when. There was also the excellent advantage of surprise that came with sitting in another person's home, unexpected; although in Bond's current situation, completely unnecessary.

Bond was starting to suspect that the only reason he was sitting in Q's home, on his easy chair, rather than waiting outside the door, was simply to see how Q would react. 

What Bond had not anticipated was to find himself with a lap full of white Persian cat. 

Q had said he owned a cat. Two cats, in point of fact, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. But it was a surprise, because the cat was Persian, white, and its presence sent Bond mentally walking a nostalgic road he was not particularly fond of. It had him asking himself, not for he first time although for the first time less facetiously, what it was about this particular breed of cat that men with no care for the well being of others found so fascinating.

Bond was pulled from these thoughts by the rattle of keys finding their way into a lock. A count of five later, and the bolt clicked. Q walked in wearing his too-large coat, keys in one hand and two plastic bags of groceries in the other. One of the bags' contents was a bag of cat food. 

The Persian hopped from Bond's lap to trot up to Q and begin rubbing aggressively against his legs. A silver-striped tabby joined her. It might have been a recipe for disaster had Q not managed to expertly shuffle his way around his two pets, making his way to the kitchen next to the living room where Bond sat, waiting. Q clicked on the Kitchen lights, looked up in Bond's direction, and sighed.

“There are some days that I'm absolutely certain you have an otherwise unknown allergy to using front entrances,” Q said. He set his bags on the counter and fished out the cat food. “This, obviously, is one of those days.”

Bond smiled. “Front entrances and I don't always get along. There's usually a gun waiting for me on the other side.”

“Are you honestly telling me this is a habit?” Q asked, incredulous and stunned, while filling two ceramic dishes with cat food.

“More… practice, to ensure that it remains a habit. I need your help.”

“Of course,” Q said. “Judging by your refusal to call or use the front door, I'm safe to assume it's the kind of help I may regret if my involvement were to be discovered.”

Bond pulled a portable hard drive from his pocket and held it up. “I need the information on here decrypted,” he said. “That's all. It may be nothing, but I decided to take precautions in case it wasn't.”

“How very thoughtful,” Q said dryly, but with an underlying… something – amusement, fond exasperation – that told Bond Q did find it thoughtful, but like hell he was going to admit it. Q made his way into the living where he plucked the drive from Bond's hand, then went back to the kitchen where one of his laptops waited.

This was what Bond liked about Q. The man wasn't merely willing to help, he was ready to help, and even not being a man of the field he still knew how to behave like a man in the field – not turning on all the lights, pretending that he was going about his day as he usually did, as though no double-o were sitting in the dark in his living room. He even took the time to remove his coat and set the kettle on the burner. Only then did he boot up the laptop.

The Persian, having finished her dinner, padded over to Bond and resumed her place on his lap. Despite the unpleasant nostalgia, Bond found himself petting her. She was quite soft, and her purr was like the engine of an Aston Martin. 

“Q, you haven't been entertaining any thoughts of using your skills to take over the world, have you?”

Q stopped his rapid typing to look up with a confused frown, then rolled his eyes. “Please don't tell me your current investigation involves finding a mole. It's bad enough having to deal with your off-the-books missions, I don't think my stress levels would be able to tolerate discovering a traitor in our midst.”

Bond smiled again and shook his head. “No. Just an inside joke.”

Q gave him another quizzical frown. Bond shook his head a second time. “Never mind. But… seeing as how you're a cat man, aren't animals in general supposed to have some sixth sense when it comes to the nature of humans? Some way of knowing the good ones from the evil ones?”

And a third look of puzzlement, this one touched with a hint of wariness. “Bond, what exactly is it I'm decrypting?”

“Information that has nothing to do with my question.”

“Think you're going evil and that Miss Digit should be scratching your eyes out?”

“Miss Digit?”

“She has thumbs.”

Bond took one of the cats paws and held it for the few seconds Miss Digit allowed it. Indeed, she did have extra toes that looked like thumbs.

“I'm not sure about animals sensing evil. Why do you ask?” Q asked, his fingers flying, filling the house with the rapid click-clack of the keys.

“I knew some very evil men who liked Persian cats.”

“And you think owning one makes me someone to be cautious of, does it?” Q asked, never taking his eyes of the screen, which was answer to Q's own question. Of course he didn't think Bond thought that. Because he knew Bond didn't think that. 

“It make me curious what is about Persians,” Bond said.

“All any animal wants is food and companionship. They're rather unconditional in that regard,” Q said. “It's why some people prefer them over the companionship of other humans. You know what you're getting with an animal. Not always with a person. And Persians are very lovely cats.”

“You sound as though you speak from experience,” Bond said. “Concerning people, not cats.”

Q paused in his typing just long enough to push his glasses further up his nose. “I've… had some experience, yes.”

Bond didn't press. He of all people knew better than to press when it came to personal matters that had no bearing what so ever on an assignment. Which, perhaps, was why Q continued anyway.

“People can be quite duplicitous when they want something from you,” Q said. 

Bond nodded in personal understanding. He had also read Q's file once upon a time, because he liked to know about the people he was working with. It was also mutual, since they were going to know him in return. But files weren't the bastions of intimate details that many thought them to be. They were the bare bones, the cold facts, completely ignoring the little pains and joys in life that culminated into what made an individual an individual. 

Q's file said nothing that would explain Q's statement. Not entirely. Only a mention of Q having spent a short time in child social services at the age of fourteen, and the arrest of an uncle at the same time, an uncle who was supposed to be taking care of Q while his mother was away searching for employment. Again, Bond didn't push. It was Q's to share if and when he wanted to. 

“Yet you work for an organization that thrives on duplicity,” Bond said.

“Odd as this may sound, I find it to be honest duplicity,” Q replied. 

Bond arched an eyebrow. “Honest duplicity. Bit of an oxymoron, don't you think?” 

“Not really. You're the very definition of it, actually. You needed my help. But rather than bribe or threaten me, You came to me and asked. No subterfuge, no lies, only you being you, even if you did refuse to use the front door.”

“Is that why you came to work for MI6? Because for a bunch of spies we still manage to be straightforward?”

“Well, there's also the pay, which is rather nice. But...” Q paused typing to look up thoughtfully. “I suppose it was more because it meant putting my skills to good use. Duplicity aside, it's not as though I actually dislike people, even if they are difficult to work with at times.” He made sure to look directly at Bond when he said this. “None of us are perfect. Some even less so than others, and some even worse.”

“A do-gooder, then?” Bond asked.

“I suppose.” Q looked at Bond. “I don't suppose you see yourself the same.” He looked back at his screen. “Probably not. But you are, considering how far you're willing to go to stop the exceedingly least perfect of humanity.”

“Some might beg to differ,” Bond said, scratching Miss Digit under the chin. “Some have. They would say it's nothing more than a matter of who pulls the trigger first.” 

“They've obviously never questioned the 'why' of the matter, then. Although I imagine the people you're referring to came to the conclusion that they already had the answer, even if it did come with a ridiculously high body count. Most of it collateral damage. And most of it on purpose.”

“To them, that's the only answer that counts.”

“Well, that's the difference between who's pulling the trigger or typing the code. It's not as though the aftermath of our answer is to trot off and blow up some building full of innocent people, or create a plague to wipe out half of humanity for some ridiculous reason that makes sense only to ourselves. We clean up the messes. We don't start them. Or, well, we try to clean them up.” Q added under his breath. “You certainly make a mess of whatever device I send you off with.”

Yet another smile graced Bond's lips. This was the second reason he liked Q. He was also straightforward. 

“Isn't that why you're here?” Q said. “Trying to do good things?”

“I do have a ridiculous love for queen and country,” Bond said. 

“Unconditional,” Q said. He added thoughtfully, “Not unlike a cat, really. Or a dog. Only with a better sense of good and evil.” 

“No amount of kibble and chin scratching will ever make me falter,” Bond said, mock-serious. 

“I would think not, considering your preferred diet is martinis.”

This made Bond chuckle. He picked up Miss Digit so that he was looking her right in the face – that is, as much as he could since Miss Digit was mostly interested in returning to his lap.

“No hard feelings between your breed and me, right?” he asked. He settled Miss Digit back onto his lap.

Q's confusion and mild concern dawned once more on his thin face.

Bond winked. “Inside joke.”

Q's computer made a little beep. Bond's information was ready.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually meant to be something humorous verging on cracky, in which Bond and a Persian Cat have a little chat (or, well, Bond has a little chat with the cat). Then the story decided it wanted to be a bit more serious. 
> 
> the hint of Q's backstory is my own creation, and one I didn't get into as much as I would like since it's addition was kind of out of the blue.


End file.
